


Yuuri Katsuki’s Guide to (Barely) Surviving Popularity

by cuttlemefish



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Confident Katsuki Yuuri, F/F, F/M, M/M, Mentions of Mental Illness, Mentions of Therapy, Otabek Altin & Yuri Plisetsky Are Best Friends, Secret Admirer, Shy Victor Nikiforov, Slow Romance, Social Media Expert Phichit Chulanont, Supportive Yuri Plisetsky, high school cliques and popularity, makkachin is not alive in this fic, minor characters are jerks to viktor but everyone supports and loves him, unreliable narrator viktor, viktor nikiforov has two moms and they're amazing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26060998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuttlemefish/pseuds/cuttlemefish
Summary: Yuuri Katsuki just started his last year of High School in a small town in the heartland of the United States. While he expects to be shunned for his newcomer status, Yuuri finds himself ensconced in a whirlwind of rumors and adulation that instantly elevate his social status into near celebrity—and forces him to cross paths with his school’s many different cliques. Yuuri seems to be living his own personal teen romcom, right down to a secret admirer with a litter of artsy love notes and a newspaper editor desperate to interview him to improve paper sales. However, Yuuri quickly discovers that his sole romantic interest is a complex set of contradictions. Having returned to school after a long break to address his mental health, Viktor is struggling with his competing interest to reclaim his former self (even as he accepts his new reality) and shun his former glory as High School royalty. But in a place where cliques provide not just identity, but entertainment, Yuuri finds that—even if he can rise above all ranks to reach ultimate legend status—none of it might get him any closer to Viktor. Or, the confident Yuuri and pretty, soft Vitya with the long hair and designer sweaters High School AU.
Relationships: Jean-Jacques Leroy/Isabella Yang, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Mila Babicheva/Sara Crispino, Phichit Chulanont/Lee Seung Gil
Comments: 21
Kudos: 98





	Yuuri Katsuki’s Guide to (Barely) Surviving Popularity

**Author's Note:**

> Friendly reminder that if it's not your cup of tea, remember you don't have to read it. It costs nothing to X out of a free fic. ^^ Life is fleeting; getting angry over Internet content isn't worth it. May you all be doing well and thriving.
> 
> I started this fic like two years ago and then in the last weekend have just pushed through writing it to completion. It's a long one, but not super long, so I'm just breaking up the word count into different chapters so I don't just randomly dump 20k+ words in a single chapter.

****

**Part I.**

Before moving, Yuuri decides his mission is simple: _Survival._

It doesn’t matter how awesome or permanent his parents say this new move will be; like all other moves, eventually he’ll end up somewhere else, like college. If he’s lucky, he’ll go back overseas for school. If he’s not so lucky, apparently the state college is highly ranked, which sounds nice for the most part. He just needs to survive approximately 10 months. Not even a year. And Yuuri is _great_ at adapting after years moving from place to place.

“Just think of all the pool parties you can have, Yuuri,” Toshiya says, trying to lighten the mood. They’ve been driving for the last three hours without any sign of stopping soon and Yuuri’s a minute away from reverting back to his eight-year-old self and asking if they’re almost there. But he doesn’t. He hums non-committedly and stares out through the window at the raindrop trails sliding down the glass. He follows one with his fingers. “And at least you know we’ll be here when you come back for breaks from college.”

The pool is very important to his parents. Yuuri knows his parents combed through seven different states for a house that would be big enough for a dog (for Yuuri) and that had something akin to an indoor pool (for Mari), and had a good school system (again, good for Yuuri), while being only a reasonable drive away from Mari’s college (for Yuuri’s parents). Mari has been away at college for two years. They haven’t really seen her since she left for school, with her so busy preparing for championships. So, someone had to sacrifice something—and, since Toshiya was retirement eligible, Yuuri ended up sacrificing his senior year of High School.

“I’m really sorry we couldn’t get extended, Yuu-chan,” his mom says, turning to give him the same soft, apologetic look she’s been giving him since they left their lives--as he’d known it for three years anyway--in Singapore. “But this was the next best thing. At least we’ll be stateside to move you into school next fall.”

Yuuri hums again, barely listening. He’s not exactly bitter about moving back to the United States. He’s American, after all, even if he only remembers living in Washington, D.C., once or twice, and visiting Detroit only for a few holidays. Moving to a small town in the middle of nowhere, though, feels different.

“When you said I could finally get a dog, this isn’t what I had in mind,” Yuuri jokes, and the whole car tenses up again. Yuuri’s parents had promised him they could get a dog when they stopped moving. Apparently, Yuuri could now get a dog for the equivalent of one school year and a summer before moving away for college, wherever he ended up going.

“I’m sorry, Yuuri,” Toshiya sighs. “I think you’ll like it here, though. It’s a little quieter. The neighbors seem nice. The school building is very new – only ten-years-old! Imagine that! SAS was built back in the 1950s, wasn’t it? -- Oh, we’re finally, almost here. Our house is a bit in town. Anyone want to stop for waffles? Your mom and I had the best waffles at this little dinner right by the Welcome to Anywhere, U.S.A., sign.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri squirms in his seat, watching a parked school bus as they pass.

Ultimately, they stop for waffles and Yuuri’s mood picks up considerably as they make it through a drive-thru window and eat in the parking lot. It reminds Yuuri of their time living in Paris. On their first night, hungry and unsure of their language skills, Toshiya had taken the family on a little field trip to buy some cheeses and baguettes. They had sat on the side of a bridge overlooking the water then. It’d been Yuuri’s favorite thing. Somehow, starting their first day with waffles in the parking lot feels just as good.

Pretty much, by the time they make it to the house and start dragging their luggage inside, Yuuri has missed his first day of school to the move. He spends most of the rest of the day fixing up his backpack. 

His mom offers to drive him to the nearest store so they can pick up some new school supplies together. (When Yuuri was little, supply shopping, whether online or in person, had always been his favorite.) He wants to explore a little on his own so he borrows the car and finds something that looks like a Walmart merged with a Target, only with some local name that throws him. He drags his shopping cart down aisle after aisle alone, picking up the usual necessities, in addition to some stuff his mom added to the list, like pots, a pan, and an extra set of sheets, all the things they’ll need to hold them over until their real things get delivered to them (and the real reason he was allowed to go alone). Mari texts him while he stands just a little too long, considering notebook brands: _Don’t forget to send me those books I asked for,_ she writes, _just grab the cheapest kind; make sure they’re wide-ruled._ With a determined grin, he pockets his phone.

He notices easily that everyone in the store, as big as it is, seems to know each other.

“Mrs. Nikiforov,” he overhears someone say, some tall red-headed woman bouncing a toddler on his arm, “Ah, and Viktor, too! How good to see you! When did you get back?” – Mrs. Nikiforov is a tall, statuesque blonde with the brightest smile in the world. Viktor, apparently, must be her son, some lanky, tall boy in faded blue jeans and a long violet sweater that drowns out his hands, except for his fingertips. Yuuri pretends not to watch the interaction as he picks out a random box of cereal, barely catching sight of a bobbing ponytail above the box.

Over by the toothpaste, he hears: “Mr. Plisetsky, how nice to see you. How is your father doing?” and “Mrs. Crispino--” and “Maria, _please_ , Arthur. Our kids have known each other since pre-school!” -- He hasn’t been in a place so small in a long time. But the familiarity and warmth in every single one of the conversations happening around him makes him feel like he’s stumbled on someplace very different from anywhere he’s lived in before.

“Cash or credit?” a bored cashier asks him, once he makes it to the front of the check-out line.

“Uh, debit,” Yuuri responds, digging into his pocket for his wallet, just like every other move. 

.

Yuuri’s mom drives him to school on his “first day,” just so she can walk him to the front office and ensure he’s all set for a smooth transition (and Yuuri thinks for a minute that might be because they weren’t sure all the paperwork made it in on time for registration). The parking lot is littered with cars, to the point where Yuuri wonders if he’ll be the only senior without one. Not that it’d be so bad to hunker down in the bus without anyone noticing him, right? – Better than the alternative. Yuuri has never been to an American school in the United States before, but he’s seen all the movies and read all the cautionary tales (and Mari still remembers a really bad kindergarten experience involving a kid trying to eat both his boogers _and_ glue, which just sounds scarring). So, needless to say, Yuuri is a lot more surprised when there’s no security, body scanner waiting to deprive him of his cellphone.

“Very modern, isn’t it?” Hiroko says, hefting her purse higher over her shoulder.

Inside the school, it takes them a good hour to fill out additional paperwork because the school fax “hasn’t been working since last May!” according to a plump, balding front desk assistant that smiles big and wide and offers them some free mints, like they’re about to buy a car. Hiroko takes one politely, stuffing it into her purse with a kind, “for the ride,” before ushering Yuuri to “over there.” Over there is by a big stack of pamphlets. He peruses through one about vaccination requirements and finds it surprising how few vaccines they actually require.

The principal, a tall brunette with sharp cheekbones introduces herself as Lilia Baranovskaya, or Principal Baranovskaya, and reassures them bluntly that Yuuri will start school that day; they’ll just have to squeeze him in somewhere and work out his schedule as they go. This would’ve never happened at his old schools, but he doesn’t say anything. Eventually, Principal Baranovskaya is right and he’s pushed out of the office and into an empty hallway with a printed schedule and a school map.

“Here’s money for lunch, Yuuri,” she says, giving him some money and a big smile before letting him make his own way down the long empty hallway leading to his second period.

.

So, apparently, second period is choir.

Yuuri doesn’t remember asking to be signed up for choir, but he’s not a terrible singer and had, at least, always made it into the annual school musical. It also sounds like an easy A.

“Mr. Cialdini?” Yuuri asks as he enters the room. Every single student sitting on the three rows of chairs turns to look at him with bright-eyed curiosity. Mr. Cialdini is an imposing figure, dressed in slacks and a button-up. He throws Yuuri a disarming smile, stretching out a hand to take Yuuri’s schedule and to point at an empty chair right in the middle of the second row.

“Welcome to second period choir, Mr. Katsuki. Take a seat over there in the middle for now. We’re just going over some grading information and soon we’ll start on some voice tests.”

Yuuri nods, following instructions promptly. Everyone in the room just seems to keep staring, especially his neighbor. He rummages through his bag for a pen.

“Hi!”

Yuuri jumps, turning to find a hand stretched out in greeting.

“I’m Phichit! And _ohmygod_ , I can’t _believe_ I’m sitting next to the _new_ kid. The last new kid we had was Leo and I cannot _begin_ to tell you how exciting that was. He was from Saint Helena County.” Phichit whispers, practically vibrating in his seat as he pretends to focus on the white board. He leans towards Yuuri, practically rubbing shoulders. “Are you from Saint Helena County, too?”

Yuuri smiles nervously, “Yuuri, and—isn’t that just the next county over?”

“Uh-huh.”

“No, sorry. My family just moved here from Singapore.”

“You’re _Singaporean_?! My family is Thai! But I’m, like, a third generation American, so I don’t know if it’s still fair to say I’m _Thai-Thai_ , you know? —”

“No! I’m, uh, American? And Japanese. My grandparents emigrated from Japan to Detroit forever ago. We just _lived_ in Singapore for a little bit. I’ve been to Thailand, too. Once. It was nice. Bangkok was really big and the food was really good.”

“So, you’re from Detroit, then?” Phichit tries again, fingers already flashing across his cellphone screen. Yuuri wasn’t allowed to have his cellphone out during class at his old school. With the stealth Phichit uses to keep the phone hidden on his lap, he imagines it’s the same here.

Yuuri shakes his head, nervous as he uncaps his pen and scribbles something down—nothing, really, other than Mr. Cialdini’s e-mail. It seems Mr. Cialdini has decided to start calling people up one by one to test their vocal range. Yuuri wonders if he can get away with just _telling_ Mr. Cialdini, instead of singing in front of a room full of strangers. It doesn’t help Phichit seems inordinately enthusiastic about getting to know Yuuri, especially now that he has confirmed he’s not from Detroit _or_ Singapore. No one has ever been so interested in Yuuri’s travel itinerary before.

“Before Singapore, we were in Paris. And before that, we were in Fiji.”

“ _So,_ you’re from Fiji?”

“No,” Yuuri says, rubbing at his arm thoughtlessly.

Phichit arches an eyebrow, “And before Fiji?”

“Paris, again. My Dad did some time in the Middle East, so we were in Brazil for a bit.”

“And you were born in?”

“South Africa. But my family wasn’t actually living there. My Mom just got sent there to have me and then we lived in Washington, D.C., but I was way too little, so I honestly don’t remember being there for the year.”

“Okay, but everyone’s from somewhere, so where are you from?”

“I’m from here now, I guess.”

“But before now? I know, I know, Singapore, but details. Like, were your parents, like, secret agents or something? That’s some crazy number of countries to live in! Do you speak, like, a _ton_ of languages?”

“I speak some Portuguese and French. I know a few words in other languages here and there, but nothing extensive. Uh, I think it’s your turn? Mr. Cialdini is looking at us like he’s thinking _murder_.”

.

By lunch time, Yuuri finds that _everyone_ in school is waving at him.

It’s a little disconcerting. Girls giggle as he passes down the hallway. Michele Crispino introduces himself by slamming a hand on Yuuri’s locker, right above his head: “I heard you spent a lot of time in Europe,” he says, arching an eyebrow. Behind him, Yuuri’s locker neighbor keeps a very focused gaze on his locker combination, spinning the dial with anxious-like precision and a bouncing ponytail. “You play soccer?”

“ _Mickey!_ ” Sara, his sister, whines as she pulls him away. “You’re scaring him!”

Yuuri shrugs, clutching tight to his bookbag, “I—I played a little.”

“Then you have to come to try-outs, _Yuuri_ ,” Sara Crispino beams, dropping her brother’s arm to pull Yuuri along. And Yuuri has no idea how she or anyone knows his name. She pulls out her phone, posing left and snapping a quick picture. Before Yuuri can ask her any questions, she’s already skipping down the hallway, hair bouncing behind her as she announces loudly, “Wait until I tell Mila that I already met the new student before her! No, better, I’ll let her see it on Instagram.”

It’s like he’s a celebrity.

Yuuri doesn’t know what to do with this newfound piece of information. He’s about to ask his locker neighbor for some directions when Phichit appears in his general direction again: “Hey, Yuuri! You ready for lunch? – You practically ran out of class before I could compare schedules. I had a really hard time trying to find you, but then I figured you had to be around here somewhere. Oh, hi Viktor! I didn’t know you were back in school. See you later? – Anyway,” Phichit says, waving disinterestedly at the boy next to them as he wraps an arm around Yuuri’s neck to pull him away, “You ran out of class really fast and I didn’t even have a chance to tell you that you have, like, one of the best voices in the entire school! Also, your rendition of _Defying Gravity_ on YouTube is _inspired_ —”

Yuuri turns around, barely catching a glimpse of Viktor, who stands by his locker still in a pair of faded blue skinny jeans and a soft, violet sweater. Yuuri has never seen hair that light blond before, not on someone above the age of two. It’s striking, like Viktor just walked out of a cartoon—especially with the hanging microbraid right down the middle of his high-ponytail. 

“—Wait, you looked me up on YouTube?” Yuuri squeaks, looking a minute from bolting for the nearest bathroom to hyperventilate. He doesn’t even notice that he hasn’t turned back to look in the right direction. Viktor looks up jarringly quickly, averting his eyes with lightning speed the moment he notices Yuuri staring.

“Only because your voice is by the gods, honestly. I did it in an admiring way, not a stalkery way,” Phichit promises, dragging him into the crowded lunchroom. “You can sit with me. I sit with Leo, Mila, just right across from _Otabek Altin_.”

“Did you just swoon a little?” Yuuri chuckles, following Phichit into the food line. He picks up a carton of chocolate milk immediately. The one thing he’d been looking forward to the most was more dairy, but also _more_ junk food on a regular basis, especially at school and away from the judging eyes of his very loving parents. He stares at an apple right next to a line of potato chip bags and decides to live dangerously for once.

“Trust me. You’ll swoon, too, once you meet Otabek. But don’t you dare _actually_ swoon because I think I’m like _this_ close to a breakthrough.”

“You say that about everyone, Chulanont,” a bored voice says behind Yuuri. “Excuse me, coming through.”

Yuuri is elbowed aside by a bored, dark-haired boy wearing a tailored black blazer above a simple, cotton-white shirt, and a pair of dark denim pants. He looks like someone from a generic Korean boy band, and Yuuri begins to wonder why he was never told about all the diversity in small-town Americana. 

“That’s Seung-Gil Lee,” Phichit swoons again, holding on tight to Yuuri’s arm. Yuuri watches Seung-Gil walk past everyone to the front of the line. “He’s a debate prodigy. He’s won every national tournament imaginable. He’s also both my arch-nemesis and biggest crush since I was, like, eight. And before you ask how an eight-year-old gets an arch-nemesis, trust me when I say that you don’t want to know. Seriously. We don’t talk about it.”

“I thought you liked Otabek?” Yuuri asks innocently.

Phichit rolls his eyes, “That was so summer and obviously not meant to last! Yuuri, keep up!”

“I didn’t even know you before today,” Yuuri laughs.

“How are we gonna be best friends if you can’t keep my crushes straight? Now, like I was saying, he is the hottest boy at school. In my opinion. Which is very much the school opinion. Speaking of which, it’s been a good forty minutes since I last posted a picture of you and if we’re going to keep up your spike in popularity, we’re going to need more material so go talk French to the lunch lady or something while I film.”

“Wait, what?!”

“You said you spoke French, didn’t you? – Look, the half-life of _mysterious, overseas hottie_ is about a week in this town, so you need to stretch it for all its worth if you’re going to make it last.”

“I do, but why would I talk French to the lunch lady? Is she French?”

“For the ‘gram, fam. Just trust me. I know what I’m doing. Now, _action_!”

And so Yuuri ends up on video, preening and charming the lunch lady (who is originally from Iowa, not France,) with European boarding school manners and literature-class French while trying to buy himself some chocolate milk. Apparently, American schools are very weird and Yuuri has managed to survive his first school day lunch and even managed to acquire himself a Phichit, which is a very coveted asset by anyone trying to be _anyone_. 

.

The rumors are out of control by the time Yuuri gets to his last class, AP Chemistry. He tries to focus his attention on the syllabus in front of him, already feeling behind. The rumors are ridiculous, as in:

“I heard that his Dad works for the CIA, but he can’t tell his family or else he would have to kill them.”

“ _I_ heard that he’s a Japanese pop star in witness protection because he pissed off some millionaire in Singapore.”

“That’s _so_ stupid! I heard from the Crispino twins that he played soccer _professionally_. In Europe.”

“ _Really_? Because I heard that he rescued turtles in Fiji!”

(“He sounds _perfect_!” – and Yuuri’s not sure he’s ever been called perfect before.).

Look, Viktor Nikiforov isn’t actually looking to snoop or listen in on whatever the rumor of the day is, but it seems half the school is in love with Yuuri Katsuki (that’s the name of the boy sitting in front of him, right?) —and he can’t even begin to blame them because the boy is _gorgeous_ and he speaks _French_ , which, if Viktor doesn’t have a weakness for _everything_ France, then he hasn’t been taking French for the last seven years. Thing is, Viktor would rather die than admit he’s silently pining behind his notebook, listening to Ashley, Summer, Scott, May, and Britney all gush about all the things they’ve heard, which is _nothing_ compared to all the random things Viktor has been scribbling down in his notebook as he overheard the ping-pong line of rumors on the way to the cafeteria. Because Yuuri Katsuki did sound perfect, right down to his singing voice and his ability to speak French and his travel experiences, which, if Summer was to be believed, included saving _baby turtles_ —and who _wouldn’t_ love someone that saved _baby turtles_? Viktor should stop drawing baby turtles, but it’s either drawing baby turtles or soccer balls. 

The latter were nowhere near as interesting.

“Sorry, could you, uh, could you maybe hand me my pen? It fell under your desk,” Yuuri says, turning around to face Viktor, who looks up with absolute horror in his eyes because _why_ is the prettiest boy he’s ever seen talking to him? – Yuuri should not be talking to him, not until Viktor was ready for the experience. He realizes only a second after the thought that he’s been wholly illogical. When Yuuri talks to Viktor again, Viktor realizes he still hasn’t said anything. “Or, if that’s too hard, maybe you can just kick it over to me?”

Viktor gives out a deep, shaky breath, trying to figure out where his voice has gone again. In his mind, he has said _sure_ a million times. In reality, he simply nods, kicking the pen back over to Yuuri with the toe of his boot.

“Thanks!” Yuuri beams, earnest and soft, dipping down to grab his own pen. He does it with such lack of judgement that Viktor almost wants to cry.

 _He saves turtles and my heart_ , he thinks, cuddling his notebook again to keep scribbling.

Behind him, Ashley and Scott snicker.

Viktor is not deluded. Boys like Yuuri Katsuki don’t notice boys like Viktor outside of movies or really depressing coming-of-age novels with one-word titles, the type his mother likes to read and share with Viktor in the hopes they can bond over teen literature (which Viktor refuses to read). Viktor wants neither a movie nor a book. He wants something _real_ , more real than the soft veneer of gray that had previously covered his life, like a layer of dust waiting to be blown away to show something better, something _different_. It’s not the type of “different” he’s going to get in a small town in the middle of nowhere, no matter how much he might love it.

And, see, there’s a lot that Viktor wants to say about his return to school, with words, too, not just in his head.

His teachers all welcome him with a quiet, “we know,” and “if there’s anything you need,” and Viktor just wants them to stop looking at him like he’s a minute away from breaking. If there’s anything therapy (and medication) has taught him is that he is strong, incredibly so, even on the days when he’s at his worst.

So, even if boys like Yuuri don’t notice boys like Viktor, Viktor is fine in the knowledge that he still deserves someone like that—someone who saves turtles and smiles at him kindly and speaks French fluently to cafeteria ladies. It might not be Yuuri, but it’ll be someone. So, Viktor keeps drawing turtles in his notebook and staring lovingly at the back of Yuuri’s head.

.

Phichit deserves an award. He deserves multiple awards. He deserves Seung-Gil Lee AND Otabek Altin as his dates for the homecoming dance because no one as magnanimous as Phichit deserves to have an unaccompanied arm, not when he has given so much of himself and others (and no, that is not a mistype). However, the moment he steps into the Drama Club room with Yuuri, Yuri Plisetsky, Class A Divo Extraordinaire and President, sniffs out fresh blood with the keen nose of a Broadway-bred shark eager to snack on the competition—the competition being Yuuri. Yuri P. shoves his way past them both, clipping his hair into a tight bun as he goes.

“Sign-ups were over the summer,” he reminds Phichit, barely bothering to talk to either of them. “It was all on Facebook. He can audition when I start casting next week.”

“I _know_ ,” Phichit gives Yuuri a wink, following behind Yuri. “But Yuuri here is new to town. He literally just started school yesterday. He also has the most _delightful_ voice. Doesn’t he, Mr. Cialdini?”

Mr. Cialdini raises his soda can before returning to his novel. The rules of the Drama Club are simple. Mr. Cialdini is only there because every club needs a sponsor, but he has otherwise a non-interventionist attitude to everything that happens after school. As long as it’s legal, it’s to be discussed by the group — meaning left to be decided by Yuri.

“Didn’t you hear me? I said he can audition next week, then.”

“But, I’m not sure I want to audition…?” Yuuri says, nervous as he worries at his bottom lip.

Phichit turns to Yuuri, trying to motion for him to be patient. There’s a method to dealing with Yuri P. Whatever Yuuri just did, that’s not _it_.

“Then the hell are you here for?”

“Language,” Mr. Cialdini sings, turning another page. There’s supposed to be a zero-tolerance rule when it comes to cursing at school, but Mr. Cialdini lets a lot of things slide during off-business hours. It’d be near impossible for Yuri P. to communicate without at least an insult sprinkled in every third or fourth sentence.

“Yuuri here is a fast learner,” Phichit tries again, softer this time, “He’s been a star before, but is otherwise a blank canvas on technical matters. Lights. Moving props. Painting stuff. He’s not picky.”

“Right,” Yuuri adds quickly, “I’m not picky.”

This seems to have the opposite effect. Yuri whirls like a tornado to face Yuuri, practically shoving him with the pure force of his aura. Yuuri’s not sure he’s ever felt so daringly close to death: “You seriously have no experience? What the hell do you think you’ll be doing here, then? – I know! Language! Sorry!”

Mr. Cialdini sighs, sticking his nose deeper into his book.

Phichit slides in easily between Yuuri and Yuri P.

“Yuuri has experience. As a singer.”

“I’ve also painted props and things before?” Yuuri tries to save himself. He was never very good at set-work, always painting a little too roughly and unevenly, but he’d been good with costumes and other creative things—anything that would get him a little extra credit at school. This, though, seemed to be something else, a production unlike anything he would’ve considered coming out of a school. “I’ve just never done lighting and stuff.”

Yuri P. seems to consider this for a moment. He taps his chin pensively, eyes flickering over to the other side of the room. Yuuri follows his line of sight over to a long-haired, platinum blond boy, the same one from one of his classes. He’s sitting with his knees propped up and a sketchbook on his lap. It seems he’s wearing another sweater. There’s a softness about him that endears him to Yuuri immediately.

“Fine, talk to Viktor. He’s in charge of the set. But give him so much as an ounce of trouble and I’ll kick you out myself, got it?”

“S—sure!” Yuuri nods. He only breathes when Yuri P. ignores him for the stage. Phichit squeals, giving his arms a tight squeeze. “Let’s not celebrate yet. I still have to talk to, uh, Viktor.”

“Oh, that should be easy! Viktor’s super nice,” Phichit tells him, already dragging him over to Viktor.

.

If only Viktor had somewhere to hide. 

He spots Phichit dragging Yuuri Katsuki surprisingly close to his little hidden spot in one of the back rows, and he wonders if he can maybe crawl along the floor to the nearest exit. _Get it together, Viktor_ , he tries to give himself a pep-talk, but finds it nearly impossible. His only relief comes from a set of girls that intercept Yuuri’s attention by grabbing onto his arms. They pull him away from Phichit, who follows, equally annoyed—until he spots Viktor.

“Viktor, hi!” he waves, practically vibrating with excitement.

Viktor gulps and immediately starts to gather his belongings. There’s a lot of things Viktor was prepared for the first week of school. Being confronted with his irrational, massive crush-at-first-sight on Yuuri Katsuki is _not_ one of them. His therapist _never_ mentioned that cute boys could be an issue. In fact, she had framed it in a really sweet way, like _new experiences_ and _relationship and confidence building_ , all of which sounded clinically clean and nice and normal. Feeling like he was a minute from a heart-attack because big brown eyes were wholly focused on him was _not_ in Viktor’s list of _okay_ emotions.

He almost trips on his own backpack, trying to beeline for the door. Yuri will understand. Surely. It’s not that Viktor is skipping Drama Club. He actually showed up – only his massive crush also showed up and Mr. Cialdini already said that if one more person faints in the auditorium, he’s quitting.

“Viktor, wait! I need to introduce you to my friend!” Phichit yells, practically bounding the stairs in two to reach him.

Viktor whines silently to himself before putting on a brave face and turning around to face Phichit. His backpack hands loosely from his elbow as he juggles his notebooks and pencils.

Yuuri Katsuki follows, unable to shake his new entourage of giggling teenage girls. Viktor tries not to focus on them too much.

“Hi Phichit,” he says, voice soft. “W—what can I do for you?”

Viktor used to be a loud kid. He used to be thunder and lightning, explosive and fast, always one step ahead of his parents. He remembers clearly playing tag with Phichit, shoving him just a little too hard and laughing as they rolled over wet grass. It’s a nice memory. Phichit has always been a nice kid. The reminder helps him feel a little less nervous, despite the haze of emotions brought on by Yuuri Katsuki.

Phichit pulls Yuuri front and center. In Viktor’s mind, it’s like a spotlight falls on the perfection that is Yuuri Katsuki. It leaves him more than a little speechless. _This is so much better than staring at the back of his head_ , Viktor sighs.

“This is my buddy Yuuri. He just moved to town, and I figured Drama Club would be fun for him. But Yuri P. says he can only let Yuuri join the set crew if you give permission, so…”

 _Panic,_ Viktor’s mind screams and he feels the immediate reaction of his body wanting to lurch for the door. On the one hand, having Yuuri join set crew means Viktor can admire from a little closer without seeming creepy. They could even strike up a friendship. _That’s wishful thinking._

“So, do you think you have room for one more person?” Yuuri asks, giving Viktor a smile so disarming, he feels his knees buckle. _That’s not normal_ , his brain supplies, _do you really want him around all the time_? – The resounding yes his heart beats is so powerful that it feels like a punch to his ribcage. Why wouldn’t he want Yuuri around all the time? – He saves turtles! Of course, in the monologue between his brain, heart, and the rest of his body (mainly his knees), Viktor just stares at Yuuri, lost somewhere in the tug of _yes_ and _no_.

One of the girls gives him a direct look, like he mustn’t have registered she’s there, too, just watching him _watching her_ loop her arm with Yuuri’s while Viktor still doesn’t say a thing: “His brain must be broken or something.”

She says it like it’s a fact. And, look, Viktor’s not in denial. There’s a lot of things wrong with his brain, but he’s the only one allowed to say as much--to his therapist. He’s broken a lot of bones and a lot of habits, both good and bad, and even hearts (starting with his mother’s), and he’s _never_ apologized for any of it. The thing is that Viktor doesn’t really notice when he stops talking (or fails to begin). It’s not like he does it on purpose, or even knows that it has happened. In his mind, there’s a million thoughts that bounce from one side to the next, like a tennis ball, and he watches them — carefully and wittily choosing his next statement. It’s really all in his throat. He can physically feel it get tight, like his vocal chords are suddenly too thin for sound to get through. 

“Hey, are you okay…?” Yuuri tries to touch him and Viktor spins away so fast, he almost trips. There’s this flash of realization in Yuuri’s eyes that makes Viktor wonder if Yuuri thinks he’s touch averse. And it hurts, because he’s not. He was just startled. He wants to explain so much, but Yuuri is already bumbling through an apology. “I’m so sorry!”

“You can do whatever you want!” Viktor responds, running for the door.

As he leaves, he can hear one of the girls say: “Oh, Viktor?” Ignore him. He’s got, like, crippling social anxiety or something. Might as well be mute. He doesn’t talk to anyone anymore! Such a shame; he used to be such a hottie.”

.

Yuuri feels bad on contact. He was out of line in touching Viktor’s arm, if that’s true. It was disrespectful. He just hadn’t expected that type of reaction. No one has ever run after he’s touched them before. He doesn’t have much time to dwell on the information before Phichit unwraps the two girls from Yuuri’s arms, frowning as he tells Yuuri, “He’s got _depression_. Don’t listen to her. He talks to people, just not her. Viktor is an artist and very sweet. He creates our sets and they’re always brilliant.”

“Should I…?” Yuuri motions for the door. Phichit shakes his head. _Right_ , he thinks. _He probably needs space after I attacked his bubble!_

“Come on, I’ll introduce you to a few other people,” Phichit brightens considerably, already pulling Yuuri away again. “Hey, Yuuko!” 

.

It all starts a week later.

(And what is a week in High School years? To Yuuri, it feels like a lifetime spent in a small town like Anywhere. He’s had a week to get caught up on the childhood stories and afflictions of every person in his small class. In a week, he’s made the soccer team (and quit), signed a couple of photographs of himself (and blushed), and acquired the attention of the local paparazzi (and managed to avoid the yearbook and the newspaper so far). It’s been great! Except for the time Phichit accidentally ate pistachios at Nishigori’s house and discovered he was allergic.)

Yuuko likes to walk down the hallway with their arms linked so she can lean in close and point people out to Yuuri, mainly whenever J.J. and Isabella are making their biweekly hallway camera rounds. It gives him a good opportunity to make a beeline for anywhere else.

“Oh, wait, I forgot my textbook,” Yuuri says, turning left to get to his locker. Yuuko follows behind him, leaning against the neighboring set of lockers to wait. “Wait, what…?” — He bends down to pick up a little purple sticky note from the ground. A doodle of a poodle stares back at him, winking with a little word bubble: _Happy Monday!_

Yuuko practically runs into his back, reading over his shoulder. She squeals, “Cute! Yuuri’s got an admirer!”

Everyone around them seems to freeze and turn to stare at them.

“Yuuko,” Yuuri groans. The little poodle drawing is cute. He can’t deny that. Before a few others can get closer for a look, he slips it into his textbook and pulls Yuuko into a sprint down the hallway. Yuuri has never felt the need to run as much as he does in school. He’s hitting all his daily step goals.

He runs right past Viktor, barely giving him a glance—or only enough to notice that, today, he’s wearing a Versace sweater in black and white. _Versace in a small town_ , he thinks with a small smile. 

Apparently, that’s only the first drawing.

When Yuuri gets to class, there’s another poodle waiting for him: _Did you have a good day?_ it asks in a soft pink sticky note. Whoever drew it, did it with a black sharpie. It’s a chubby poodle that looks more like a cloud than a dog. Yuuri loves it. It reminds him instantly of his new poodle puppy, the one he’s supposed to pick up next week. 

Yuuri’s not sure if the question is legitimate. He bites at his bottom lip, deciding to write on the back: _My day was okay. Who are you?_ and when the class period ends, he leaves the sticky note behind, in hopes the artist will come back to see it.

“So,” Phichit interrupts him on his way to the library to pick up some books, “I heard you have your first admirer! _Finally_! I was starting to get worried that we hadn’t broken through the ladder of popularity into ultimate legend status!”

Yuuri chuckles, sticking the first poodle on his forehead, “You’re so weird sometimes.”

“Weird, but effective,” Phichit winks, already running to his next class. “Aww, this is cute!”

.

The third poodle is waiting for him outside his locker at the end of the day: “Shh! It’s a secret!” it says with a lopping tongue. _A secret_. Yuuri has a secret admirer and he’s only been in school a week and a day. He smiles, pocketing the drawing. When he looks up, he catches sight of Viktor staring at him from between the little crevices of his locker. Yuuri finishes packing his backpack and closes the locker room before making his way down the hallway. He passes by Viktor slowly, saying as he goes, “Hey Viktor. You want to walk to Drama Club together?”

Viktor jumps, closing his locker door quickly, “What?”

Yuuri blinks, rocking on his hind heels, “Sorry, I said, do you want to walk to Drama Club together?”

“B—but tryouts start today,” Viktor reminds him, like that matters. There’s something about the way he hugs his notebook close to his chest that strikes Yuuri as adorable. Between his long platinum blonde hair and his Versace sweater, there’s something that doesn’t fit in Anywhere but shines all over Viktor. “I—I don’t think I’m trying out for anything.”

“So, you’re not going to Drama Club? I thought Yuri P. said attendance was compulsory for every single meeting.”

“No, I am,” Viktor says, like he’s struggling to get through the words. He plays with the ends of his hair. “But, wouldn’t you rather walk with someone else?” – It’s an odd question. Yuuri doesn’t want to pry or come on too strong after last time, but he also finds an opening in Viktor’s hesitation, like he _wants_ to walk together. Yuuri might not personally know depression, but he understands embarrassment and loneliness.

Yuuri looks around the empty hallway, “There’s no one else and we’re both going in the same direction.”

“Well, I guess…?” Viktor smiles softly, still staring at his sneakers.

And Yuuri’s not sure he’s ever felt his heart do _that_ before.

“You’d be doing me a huge favor,” Yuuri says as they start walking side by side. “I still get lost a lot when I’m on my own. I was even late to history class the other day.”

Viktor grins, his tongue barely grazing over his bottom lip: “Probably because you’re never alone long enough to have to keep tabs on where you’re going.” His expression changes in a minute. A shaky hand reaches up to press over his mouth. “Oh gosh. I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be—”

“No, it’s true! It’s funny because it’s true,” Yuuri speaks over Viktor, “I barely get to spend any time by myself.”

“And here I am not letting you be by yourself!” Viktor panics, already speeding up.

“But I _asked_ you to walk with me,” Yuuri reminds him, barely able to keep up. He tries again, “ _I_ asked you.”

Viktor stops mid-step, furrowing his brows to study Yuuri, “You _did_ ask me.” With a little more emphasis, he asks, “Why?”

Yuuri hadn’t actually stopped to think about it. Viktor looks like the kind of guy who could use a friend. Yuuri, too, could use a friend, or one more friend. But that would be the easy way out, to go for the obvious and verge into the territory of pity. Yuuri doesn’t feel any pity for Viktor; he doesn’t know what Viktor has been through— _that_ and it feels disingenuous to feel pity for a teenager with model looks and last season’s Versace winter collection. The complicated answer would be for Yuuri to admit that Viktor is attractive and Yuuri is a teenager. The even more complicated and embarrassing answer would be for Yuuri to admit he might be developing a mild crush on the artsy, cute boy that sits behind him in AP Chemistry and likes to draw. And also talks to (literally) no one.

“I think you’re nice?” Yuuri tries. “And we’re going to be working together on set stuff. I figured it’d be good if we were friends.”

Viktor seems to consider this with a wayward look, as if challenging the very premise of Yuuri’s lame explanation. It’s definitely more acceptable than _I’ve never seen anyone pull off hair that blonde before. Also, your eyes are like winter in Paris. And I don’t think I’ve ever considered sweaters so attractive in my life_. Yuuri gulps hard, hoping he seems convincing.

“You really want to be friends?” Viktor’s entire face softens when he speaks.

“Yeah. If you want,” Yuuri offers.

“I’d like that,” Viktor whispers behind his notebook, walking ahead of Yuuri. “A lot.”

.

This whole thing with Yuuri Katsuki is getting out of hand. Viktor is silently swooning listening to Yuuri sing his acapella rendition of _Ain’t No Mountain High Enough_ with Phichit, while drawing yet another poodle to congratulate him on what will obviously be the lead role.

Yuri P. has never looked so constipated in his life. Viktor should know; they practically grew up with identical potties, seeing as their mothers were twins and seemed incapable of doing anything apart, right down to raising their sons. It’s not that Viktor doesn’t love his cousin and his aunt, but Yuri P. is particular, which means the look he’s giving Yuuri is indicative of just how much he _recognizes_ Yuuri is incredible. Every few seconds, he whispers something furiously into Otabek’s ear, who simply nods. It sends something warm spreading deep down into his belly.

“Hi Viktor!”

Viktor drops his pencil when he jumps.

 _What is it with people sneaking up on me now?_ he thinks, trying to hide his notebook. _This never used to happen to me before._

“M—Minami?”

Kenjirou Minami, Newspaper Editor, gives him a beaming smile as he plants himself on the seat right next to him. He hugs his camera close, staring with starstruck eyes as Yuuri belts out his last lines and finishes to riotous applause. Yuri P. only ends up looking even redder. 

“HE’S AMAZING!” Minami explodes into a series of heart emojis. At least in Viktor’s mind. It makes him giggle.

“He’s really good,” Viktor agrees, already opening up a fresh page to doodle a small Minami with hearts floating all around him. He rummages through his bag for a red glitter pen. His hand moves rapidly across the page. “What are you doing here, though? I thought Yuri said you couldn’t come in here, except for shows.”

Minami shrugs, looking like a fierce peacock, “I couldn’t not come and see Yuuri perform! I’m hoping to interview him for the student newspaper, once he gets settled in. I don’t want to pressure him! I figured I could start collecting pictures, though.” – And he snaps a few for good effect. They seem to catch Yuuri’s attention. Yuuri waves over at Viktor, who pretends to ignore him for his notebook.

“That’s a good idea,” Viktor hums, finishing his doodle quickly to rip the page out. “Ta-dah!”

Minami gasps, clenching the paper tightly when he spots the cartoon: “Viktor! I love it! It’s, it’s _everything_!”

Viktor blushes faintly, “It’s… it’s just. It’s just a little doodle.”

“Sign it for me?” Minami begs, “You have to sign it for me. And I’m running it in the paper. Oh. Maybe you can add a little Yuuri, too! Then it could be, like, a political cartoon, only a snapshot of everyday life at Anywhere High. That could even be a new column! You could draw things—”

“A—a little Yuuri?” Viktor turns an even deeper shade of pink but complies. He smooths out the paper, preparing to draw some more.

“Are you listening to me?” Minami asks, “You could join the paper! We could really use your star power. Distribution has been low; we have very few stories; we’re thinking we might have to close…”

“That’d be a shame,” Viktor murmurs. “But I don’t know that I can handle anything beyond Drama Club. My moms are still monitoring my after school activities. They don’t want me to overextend myself.”

“Minami!” Yuri P. yells, sending a few of the recent recruits scrambling away. “I thought I told you and your chickens to keep away from my stage!”

“You better go,” Viktor chuckles, giving Minami back the unfinished drawing. “I’ll get you a clean copy via email.”

“Thanks, Viktor!” Minami chirps as he drops to his knees to crawl out of the auditorium.

.

 _Congratulations!_ the tenth poodle says with two extended paws. Phichit squeals, ripping the sticky note off the results of the try-outs. Yuuri has been called for a second audition to make sure he has the _right_ _stuff_ for Yuri P.’s protagonist. The leading role is almost his, and he doesn’t even know how to feel.

“Maybe it’s Yuri P.!” Phichit jokes, sticking the drawing on Yuuri’s chest.

“He doesn’t even like me!”

“It has to be someone in the Drama Club,” Yuuko interjects, “I mean, how did they know to say congratulations? _Oh!_ Maybe it’s Minami! Or Beka?”

“Please, that chicken nugget couldn’t be stealthy even if he tried. Remember the real chickens? Besides, half of Yuuri’s fan club showed up just to fail the auditions on purpose…” Leo laughs, not even mentioning that he, too, has been called for a second audition for the lead, “Anyone that heard Yuuri and Phichit sing knew Yuuri was going to get the lead. No offense, Peach, but you, uh, were a step above a cat in heat.”

“Hey, I didn’t get the lead, technically,” Yuuri reminds him.

“Yet. It’s as good as yours!”

“I don’t even take offense to that because at least I’m in the play on my very first try,” Phichit grins, pointing at his name on the line-up. “ _Silent Mime_. Look at that.”

“There was a mime?” Yuuko scoffs, crossing her arms. “I would’ve tried out for that, if I’d known!”

“Unbelievable!” Leo gasps, following Phichit’s finger to confirm the news. “How do you do it?”

“Like I said,” Phicht laughs, flicking Yuuri’s nose. Yuuri slaps him away. “I’m effective. My methods might be questionable, but they work. Now, back to plan _Make Yuuri a Legend_ , let’s go get our star singer some tea to soothe his voice and keep him in tip-top shape for his callbacks.”

“I’m not that good, guys,” Yuuri balks, but follows quietly and smiles at the little poodle doodle on his chest. “Leo could get it, too.”

Leo shrugs, “Stop it. Don’t even worry about it, Yuuri. Honestly, my parents have been on my case about college, so I told them I was looking to start a music club. I guess I should focus on that, not on being in another musical, especially when there’s no way Yuri P. is letting me climb out of the orchestra pulpit.”

“Yeah,” Yuuko sighs longingly, “I don’t know why I even tried out. My skating schedule is pretty much my life.”

“A music club sounds great, though!” Phichit claps Leo’s shoulders.

“Thanks. Beka said he’d join my club. I think I need at least five members, though.”

“Don’t let Yuri P. hear you,” Yuuko chastises gently. “But Nishigori and I will join if it helps. Well, we’ll join in spirit and signature and dues, but attendance could get tricky…”

“Me too,” Yuuri promises. “And so will Phichit, right?”

Phichit nods rapidly, completely silent as he pretends to be a mime trapped in a box down the school hallway. 

.

There’s too much paperwork involved in actually getting a music club together. Between a petition to the student body for permission and assistance setting up a fund for dues, followed by a meeting with the principal to confirm a faculty sponsor and recruitment flyers, they all give up. Instead, they start a band. Secretly. No one wants Yuri P. thinking they’re poaching musical talent from his “senior showcase,” as he starts calling the winter musical. A band is also much easier to manage on the weekends and Yuuri’s parents are more than happy to lend their basement to the project, which is mostly a group of them hanging out with instruments and their selected invited guests playing the role of supportive groupies. Except for Phichit: He was more like Yuuri’s manager.

“Can I get hair on Yuuri again, please? I said only a _little_ tussled. He looks like he rolled down a hill,” Phichit huffs as he flips through unusable photo after photo. In the last week, a Facebook group called _Yuuri’s Wives Club_ had grown exponentially, and while Yuuri is still a little skeptical that Phichit was not the originator, the way he rallies against the Facebook group with an Instagram page called @YuuriKOnlyFans is pretty close to convincing Yuuri, especially when the page ends up getting Yuuri’s own Instagram account verified. He’s starting to feel like a real celebrity now, even if half the users following him are probably just bots. 

“You do realize _you_ are hair and makeup, right Phichit?” Leo reminds him, shaking his head as he exchanges a few chuckles with Yuuri. When he finishes tuning one guitar, he hands it to Yuuri. “It’s the only reason you’re here.”

He and Yuuri will be guitarists. Or, more like Leo will be a guitarist and Yuuri will hold a guitar and strum a few simple chords while he sings. If Yuuri remembers correctly, his role is that of _face_ for the band, and probably voice. They’d managed to recruit Otabek Altin to be their band’s bassist (albeit with some resistance given the secretive nature of their project and his close friendship with Yuri P.), and at the last minute, almost by accident, had recruited Student Body President Guang Hong Ji as their keyboardist. This last one was a huge coup considering Guang Hong was probably the busiest guy in school, but also probably one of the nicest—and Yuuri really enjoyed their chats. 

“Oh, right,” Phichit nods. He looks determined as he considers his next move. “Okay, Yuuri, hold still while I spritz you. Does someone have eyes on Vicchan? We could use puppy cuteness in the shot.”

“My mom took Vicchan to the vet. Sorry.”

“Sorry it didn’t work out with music club, Leo,” Yuuko says as she stretches on the floor. Although she hadn’t joined the band, she’d managed to convince her new boyfriend and ice dance partner Takeshi to play the drums for them. He doesn’t talk to them as he tries to set up his equipment, having hauled it over from home. Yuuri gets it; Takeshi can be a little awkward, but he seems like a good guy behind his gruff exterior. 

“It’s probably for the best,” Leo says, cheerful as ever. Nothing ever seems to get Leo down. Yuuri admires this quality and compares it to his infrequent bouts of pessimism.

Phichit is already spritzing Yuuri’s hair: “Why do we need to spritz me again?”

“It’s all for the ‘gram, fam. Besides, the more people that follow YKOF, the more data I can gather to figure out your secret admirer! We _will_ track down Codename Poodles. Trust me. My instincts tell me I’m _this_ close, Yuuri.”

“I thought that’s why you’d joined _Yuuri’s Wives Club_ on Facebook,” Guang Hong ponders out loud. “To track all the people with artsy profiles and an interest in Yuuri that could be CP. Also, did we ever figure out who’s behind the Facebook group? I heard some rumor that it’s Minami and his chickens from newspaper trying to stir up some drama to drum up paper sales. They’re more desperate than usual after the council voted not to give them a loan to cover the gap in funds.”

“You joined the Facebook group?” Yuuri groans, hiding his face between his palms. “No wonder the Crispino twins congratulated us on our _wedding_. Phichit, unjoin the Facebook group right now.”

“You’re still receiving poodle doodles?” Otabek arches an eyebrow, not once looking away from his tuning work. 

Yuuri nods, “Not just poodles, but mostly. I also got a really cute turtle the other day.”

“What leads do you have so far, Peach?” Yuuko asks, staring down at her cuticles.

“I’m pretty sure Ashley is the culprit.”

“Ashley from AP Chem is Poodles?” Guang Hong coughs not to choke on his water. “But we’re in student council together. I remember her flyers. They were… not artistic.”

“Oh god no, not CP. But I’m super close to cracking that case, too. I just have to enlist Viktor in my efforts. Nah. Ashley’s behind the Facebook group with her little minions. I can feel it.” 

At the sound of Viktor’s name, Yuuri looks up, considering Phichit’s words.

Yuuko had explained to Yuuri that Viktor used to be a minor school celebrity himself, before he took a long break from school (“For mental health reasons, you know,” she’d said, rolling around peas on her lunch platter.) His mothers were wealthy artists, living their quiet, child-raising years in a small town like Anywhere (mostly so one of Viktor’s mothers could be close to her twin), which would explain Viktor’s expensive clothes and artistic talent. Seemed like things had changed after Viktor’s return from _break_. Despite his obscurity now, Yuuri gathered that Viktor was remarkably talented, which meant he was the pride of and primary received of attention from Mr. Giacometti, the art teacher, and the token poster child for artistic genius—so much so that their principal let him take extra art classes. If anyone might recognize Poodles’ art style, it would be Viktor.

“How do you know?” Otabek doesn’t look convinced. When his phone chimes, everyone freezes. He reads over a couple of text messages and then stands up, motioning for everyone to be quiet. “It’s Yuri. I’ll take it in the closet.”

“We’ll keep it down,” Yuuri promises.

Yuuko whispers, “How do you know?”

Phichit grins, “I have my sources.”

“You know, you could use your superpowers for good instead of evil,” Guang Hong reminds him. “The newspaper could use a spicy column to bring back readership.”

“And lose the blog hits? No way,” Phichit scoffs, taking another candid photo of Yuuri with the guitar. He types with the ferocity of a lion pouncing on prey. “I see your Yuuri eating pizza, Wives Club, and raise you with Sensitive Musician Yuuri. Beat that, bitches.”

“Hey!” Yuuko pouts, “watch your language.” 

“Am I the only one concerned he’s become a little obsessed with this Facebook group?” Yuuri asks his friends.

Leo shakes his head, “Nope. If I were you, I’d be terrified over the social media catfight for my lunch photos. It’s like having paparazzi, real paparazzi, not just J.J. and Isabella.”

“It’ll be good publicity for the band, though,” Guang Hong reminds them. “Should we finally come up with a name today?”

“How about Electric Poodles?” Takeshi snorts.

Yuuri burst out in laughter, and Yuuko and Guang Hong both jump to press their hands over his mouth. He falls backwards, whole body shaking as tears cling to the corner of his eyes. Otabek opens the door to the closet then, giving them a glare as he points at the phone—and Yuuri only laughs harder. Naturally, Phichit takes advantage to take a few more photos.

.

The library is a safe space for Yuuri, mostly because students seem to avoid it during the school day and, if his current experience is any indication, especially at lunch time. Yuuri doesn’t make it a habit to skip lunch, but Phichit had spent much of the first half of the day bothering him about his popularity analytics—and Yuuri was _not_ about to make his band debut in the middle of lunch.

Usually crowds gather in the mornings before class starts, plenty of frantic students trying desperately to find an empty chair or lining up to print an assignment completed at the last minute. While Yuuri would’ve assumed e-mailing or submitting an assignment through an online portal would be easier and more environmentally friendly, he’s very far away from the place he used to call a school. But as the school day drags on, Yuuri finds that the library is very rarely visited by people. And those that visit are not keen on being bothered or getting kicked out with a noise violation. This leaves Yuuri to wander down the line of shelves, letting his fingers run across the spines of books as he pulls tome after tome for his growing stack.

Hidden in the corner of the library, tucked behind some tall shelves holding the art books, there’s a couple of small desks drilled into the walls. Yuuri finds Viktor siting at one of the desks, sketching something from a book about sea animals. He’s almost made up his mind that he should backtrack his way out of Viktor’s hidden corner when his eyes spot a sandwich bag on Viktor’s lap.

“Are you eating your lunch in the library?” Yuuri asks, probably sounding more concerned than he needs to be over something so trivial.

Viktor sits up immediately. His back is straight and tense, and Yuuri watches his high ponytail snaps back with the speed of a whip. He turns to face Yuuri, leaving Yuuri completely struck by the Bambi-like proportions of his features: Big eyes, small nose, parted lips, and probably the highest cheekbones Yuuri will ever see in his life outside of a magazine. Viktor is breathtakingly beautiful; he probably doesn’t even know it. Yuuri probably shouldn’t even think it.

“I don’t think you’re allowed to eat in here,” he fumbles to say. “Why don’t you come eat with the rest of us?”

Viktor knits his brows together, but the look of defiance quickly changes into one of guilt: “I keep the space clean. And usually no one comes back here. It’s much quieter in here than out there.”

“The inner lunch room is a lot quieter.”

“It’s also very crowded,” Viktor responds. “And I don’t actually know anyone this lunch period.”

“You know me?” Yuuri points out, and then realizes his statement isn’t actually offering anything. “I mean, you could eat lunch with me.”

“But you’re here,” Viktor points out. “So, I guess I sort of am eating lunch with you?”

“I guess you’re right,” Yuuri chuckles softly, trying to keep his voice down. He reaches for the empty chair next to Viktor, and watches as Viktor shoves some loose papers under his notebook. They stare at each other for a minute before Yuuri’s eyes fall on the open book in front of Viktor: “Are you sketching turtles?”

“Ah, just some basic practice pieces for my portfolio,” Viktor reaches for the end of his ponytail, caressing the length out of nerves. Yuuri watches the gentle motion of Viktor’s hands. “What are you doing in the library during lunch?”

“I guess I was looking for a little peace and quiet,” Yuuri rubs the back of his neck, “between the Facebook group--”

“You mean your wives?” Viktor offers with more amusement than Yuuri would’ve expected from him.

“I hear I have husbands, too,” Yuuri jokes, and Viktor seems to take that more pointedly than he expected from his flinch. “Not that I’m bothered by that; in fact, I’m happy to have both. Husbands. And wives. Because I like both. Girls and boys. What about you?”

Viktor chuckles, hiding his smile behind his hand, and his eyes immediately remind Yuuri of the ocean on a sunny day. He’s screwed. Yuuri is veritably screwed. He’s apparently only as smooth as sandpaper when confronted with a soft, pretty boy in a Gucci silk sweater.

“Do I have wannabe wives and husbands?” Viktor furrows his brows in confusion. “No. I think having a fan club is more of a _you_ type of phenomenon here. You’re kind of the most exciting thing to happen to this school, probably even this town since—nope, can’t think of something in recent history.”

Did this count as flirting? Or banter? Yuuri’s not sure. He’ll have to run it by Yuuko later. This is the most he’s ever heard Viktor say, and technically they’re whispering behind shelves of books, but Yuuri’s still fascinated by the sound of Viktor’s voice and the shine of his lips and his hair.

“Wait, I asked _what about you_ , didn’t I? Right after saying I’m bi,” Yuuri’s brain finally catches up to his mouth then, and he tries not to cringe visibly. Instead, he flushes red. “I’m sorry. Can we keep it a secret that I’m really not as cool or as interesting as people here think I am?”

“I don’t know,” Viktor shrugs, packing his things when the bell rings, “I kind of think you are.” – When he realizes his own words, his hands seem to shake as he tries to push everything into his bag. Yuuri almost wants to stop him and reassure him that the feeling is entirely mutual, but then he remembers everything he knows about Viktor and decides he should proceed with caution.

“Well, then maybe you should take me up on my lunch offer,” Yuuri beams, feeling like his heart is throbbing in his throat.

“How would I even find you? It’s a big lunch room.”

“We could meet right outside the library,” Yuuri offers, “I could walk you to the table. If you wanted.”

Viktor looks tentative at the clock on the wall, “I—I don’t know. Maybe. Thanks, but maybe.”

Yuuri nods, “Yeah, of course. Only if you want. I’ll wait by the entrance; in case you ever change your mind.”

.

Yuri is worried about Viktor. Again. And this time, the jerk’s not even acting sad or anything. In fact, Viktor seems happy when he walks into the meeting with none other than Katsuki. Yuri watches his cousin do that thing where he pushes an errant strand of hair behind his ear and shyly dips his head like the protagonist in some teen drama, and his stomach churns with worry. _Oh no,_ he thinks, exchanging looks with Beka from across the room. _I know that look._

Beka simply shrugs, giving him a small smile like there’s _anything_ to feel hopeful about regarding this developing situation. Katsuki is dangerous. Yuri should’ve never let him into the club, beautiful voice gifted by the gods be damned. He should’ve kicked Katsuki out the moment he heard he’d been spotted in the library with Viktor, but seeing as Viktor hadn’t continued his lunchtime rendezvous with Katsuki, Yuri let it slide.

Like he ever had any control over the situation.

The thing about it is that Viktor is obviously harboring the same type of crush approximately 70% of the school seems to have on Katsuki, but unlike 90% of the school, Viktor is fragile and sensitive—and he’s supposed to be taking re-entry into his normal school life step by step to be in line with his recovery. Yuri is supposed to be helping to build boundaries for him. He’s supposed to be protecting his vulnerable cousin.

“They’re cute, aren’t they? It’s nice to see Viktor back in action,” Isabella says to her boyfriend J.J, the annoying selfie king. They’re both in the yearbook and, just a few weeks into the school year, have already started the annual photo collection. Being seniors adds a whole new level of nostalgia to their work as yearbook co-editors, and the fact they’re in love and trying to go to the same college means they’re trying to find romance stories down every hallway.

“Nothing cute about them,” Yuri scoffs, trying to do some damage control. Chulanont is already snapping photos with his phone from somewhere in the sixth row. “There’s no action happening here. Hey, Chulanont, I thought I told you my set is off limits to social media!”

“Not as cute as we are!” J.J. grins, genuinely seeming to believe that. Yuri almost wants to argue because Viktor and Katsuki are cute. They’ve been cute together all week while set-building and it’s starting to make him nauseous.

Isabella swoons, “aww, J.J.! That’s so sweet! But seriously, look at them. Oh, these photos are going to be so cute in my tribute spread. It’ll be nice to not be the only star couple.”

J.J. shrugs, taking a photo of Isabella instead, “Maybe. Still won’t be as cute as us. Let’s stick around and see what else we can capture. Hey prima donna, are they your leads or…?”

“They’re crew. Katsuki is lead; Viktor is on set,” Yuri can feel his head throb with a oncoming migraine. He’s too young to die like this, slowly, at the hands of idiots: “I don’t remember giving permission for you to stick around my meeting.”

“Oh, pretty please? It’ll be nice to capture lots of photos of your seminal play,” Isabella kisses up like breathing. And it does tend to work on Yuri, sometimes, but only because she’s so genuine about it and there’s a diva code of honor and mutual Yuri needs to respect. Ruling a school isn’t easy, but if he wants to protect Viktor from any vultures looking to pick on him, he needs the support. “We’ll stay out of the way and be extra quiet. Promise. Diva code of honor and mutual support? For Viktor?”

Yuri knew the diva table would get dragged into it. Freshman year of high school, Sara, Mila, Yuri, Viktor and Isabella had all started sharing a table together—on accident. It’d then become a tradition fueled by pure luck. The scheduling gods had been on their side sophomore and junior year, at which time J.J. and Otabek seemed to infiltrate the table. The latter to help Yuri survive the annoyance of his own popularity. But the diva table had some element of legend now: Sara was the captain of the dance team. Mila was the captain of the cheerleading squad. Isabella had control of the yearbook—and only recently given up control of the newspaper after pulling J.J. from a nosedive in sales. Yuri had total control of Drama Club. Senior year had made things difficult with different lunch periods. Yuri had lost Otabek to another lunch time, and so the table had become Mila, Sara, and Yuri.

“Viktor isn’t a diva,” J.J. snorts. And Yuri wants to shove him. But Yuri doesn’t have to shove him. Otabek manages to ‘accidentally’ hit J.J. just as easily with a prop. Yuri feels smug with satisfaction, watching the selfie king on the floor. “Hey!”

“Next week. Seems like J.J. needs to study up on his history,” Yuri rolls his eyes, tapping a microphone. “Listen up, losers, we’re about to get started. Everyone take a seat now.”

Katsuki and Viktor immediately sit in place. Viktor manages to sit on an actual chair, but Katsuki ends up on the plush steps in the middle of the two groups of rows. He looks entirely disoriented at his own action and looks up sheepishly at Viktor, who simply laughs, loud and genuine, before stretching out a hand to help Katsuki stand. He moves one seat over to give Katsuki some space. Katsuki wastes no time in pointing at something on Viktor’s sketchbook, the _smooth_ jerk trying to make moves on his cousin. 

“J.J., I can’t believe you don’t know about the history of the diva table,” Isabella says, sounding completely disappointed. She shakes her head, stepping over him as she goes. “Peach, hi, are you still representing Katsuki? I want to talk to you about his yearbook plans.”

Yuri rubs at his temples. He throws a sideways glance to Mr. Cialdini, who is taking a nap while listening to music with his headphones. 

.

Yuuri waits right outside the library again. He’s been waiting every day for a few minutes each time. Guang Hong approaches him on his way to class, looking a little frantic as he’s obviously taken a big detour: “Hey, Yuuri, can I borrow your notes from first period? I had a dentist appointment and want to take advantage of the school copy machines today.” With a nod, Yuuri pulls out his notebook from his backpack. “Thanks!” Guang Hong says, grateful. “I’ll bring them over tomorrow for band practice.”

“Sounds good,” Yuuri waves him away, and then stuffs his hands into his pockets. A few members of his fan group wave at him as they walk by and Yuuri tries to be polite and smile. When he spots Phichit and Yuuko, he considers whether he should give it a couple more minutes. He’s always worried he’ll leave too soon and not give Viktor enough time to make up his mind about lunch.

“I see you’re standing here waiting again,” Yuuko elbows him gently. She picks at something sticking from his back and shows it to him. It’s another sticky note poodle. “Wow, did you not even notice when your secret admirer stuck this to you?”

“What? When did this even happen?”

Phichit pouts, “You didn’t even get a look?”

“I didn’t even feel it. It must’ve happened when I got swarmed on the way to class. You know how crowded the hallways get. Huh. _Enjoy band practice_. Uh.”

“They know about band practice!”

Yuuko grins, “Not like it’s hard. You’ve been posting photos of Yuuri at practice on Instagram. I mean, someone was bound to put two and two together. We haven’t been all that sneaky, really.”

“That means they follow YKOF!” Phichit pumps his arm in the air, “Take that, Wives!”

“He’s still raging against the Facebook group, I see,” Yuuri chuckles. “Well, guess we should go in for lunch. I don’t think Viktor is coming today, either.”

“Viktor?” Phichit arches an eyebrow, already looping his and Yuuri’s arms together. “Why are you waiting for Viktor?”

“I invited him to sit with us since he doesn’t have a table; he’s been eating by himself in the library,” Yuuri explains. “Didn’t I tell you guys? I told him he should eat with us. I’m pretty sure I said I told him to eat with us.”

Yuuko shakes her head, “You said you were waiting for someone, but I didn’t want to pry too much. I didn’t realize it was Viktor. Oh Yuuri, had I known I would’ve told you it’s probably a waste of time to wait. Divas only sit at the diva table, and they’re kind of high school royalty. Not that you’re not well on your way to being high school royalty as well, but to get to Viktor, you’ll probably need to get through the other divas.”

“The what?” Yuuri blinks. “But he’s always alone.”

“The diva table,” Phichit nods, “an archaic piece of Anywhere High history. Sometimes I forget there’s so much you don’t know. But Yuuri, if these walls and tables could only talk, the stories they’d tell. Come, let’s sit and eat and drink and be merry among friends—and let me tell you about the divas. And the pact of honor and mutual protection.”

Yuuko wiggles in excitement, “I love story time with Phichit!”

Otabek and Leo are already waiting for them at their usual table. Leo is staring at his food with lukewarm enthusiasm. His mother has been on a leftovers kick and Leo’s not a fan. He sighs, digging into his meal.

“Hey, did ya’ll know Yuuri’s been waiting for Viktor?”

“Yes,” Otabek grunts, typing another message to Yuri P.

“No,” Leo blinks. “Am I the last to know? Oh Yuuri, buddy, stay away from the divas. They’re high maintenance.”

“Except for me. I’m a nice diva. Just kidding, I’m not a diva,” Phichit beams, taking a selfie with Yuuri. It’s growing on Yuuri, all the selfies. And he finds his group of friends endearing. 

Yuuri dips his head to hide his smile, “So, what’s the diva table?”

“It’s an exclusive table only to be used by the ladies and boys who run our school,” Yuuko explains, opening her lunch box. She pouts when she sees a salad. “I swear this whole being an athlete thing bites.”

“So, Guang Hong is a diva?” Yuuri asks, confused. “Wow, American schools are really into student council.”

Phichit laughs, “Not run as in student council. Run as in rule the school. Socially.”

“Popular kids,” Yuuri nods. “Got it.”

“Not popular,” Phichit corrects him. “You, me, Leo? We’re popular. This is the popular table. The divas are not _just_ popular. Some aren’t even popular. They’re just celebrities.”

Otabek munches slowly before adding, “Divas don’t rule through popularity. They rule through strategy. Some have the added bonus of charm, beauty, talent, maybe just plain friendliness, but they’re not just well-liked for the sake of being _nice_. It’s all about necessity. They have social capital and access to activities and roles that give the social capital. This earns them respect. Yuri P. is a diva. So is Sara Crispino, head of the dance team.”

“Like Beka said, some divas rule through fear,” Phichit nods wisely. “And some, like Mila Babicheva, through pure charm and wit. She’s the head of the cheerleading squad. You met her last week.”

“Hey, don’t say that about Yuri. He’s only taken a turn for the tyrannical to protect his family,” Otabek states, ever quick to defend his best friend. “Viktor is vulnerable right now.”

“Okay,” Yuuri mulls over Beka’s words. Vulnerable is an understatement. “Sara, Mila, Yuri P., and Viktor—”

“Isabella. People forget because she doesn’t always sit at the diva table to be with J.J., who is sort of persona non grata over there, but she’s a diva and really takes advantage of the pact,” Leo chimes in with such knowledge that Phichit looks momentarily starstruck and proud. “What? I read Peach’s blog. It’s a guilty pleasure.”

“Thank you,” Phichit presses a hand to his heart in appreciation. “Yes, Isabella is the head of the yearbook committee and in the morning news with J.J. They used to also run the newspaper, but then J.J. called it quits over declining sales and now you see them everywhere acting like paparazzi in the hallways, or making out behind the bleachers. They’re a genuine high school cliché.”

“So, what makes Viktor a diva?”

Beka passes around a little tub with baklava inside.

“Viktor was an arts celebrity in town. He has a mural over on main street that he painted when he was twelve,” Otabek shrugs. “There’s an art club here, but it’s nothing anyone wants to join. I guess Viktor is just Viktor.”

“In a way, I guess there’s a lot of controversy over Viktor’s diva status,” Phichit pulls up a blog post on his phone. “Some say he’s more of a pet for the divas, or a diva by association, but I argue that’s incredibly hard to be: Take Otabek. He sat at that table for a long time, but only attached to Yuri P. No Yuri P.? No expectation of Otabek sitting at the diva table. Otabek is not a diva. He’s just cool and popular.”

“Thanks,” Otabek nods with a genuine smile.

“You’re welcome,” Phichit winks at him.

Yuuko nods, “it’s a great point. I guess you could say Viktor was the most powerful diva of them all: He didn’t have anything people wanted at school. He was just really talented and, well, you’ve seen, he’s beautiful and stylish. And back then, he was a real charmer. It just seemed like he should be high school royalty.”

“He still is,” Yuuri says without thinking, “talented, I mean.”

Phichit pokes at Yuuri’s flushed cheek, “and pretty. Someone seems to have a crush.”

Yuuri pouts, “didn’t you just tell me he’s pretty much out of my league with this diva stuff?”

“A High School diva and a living legend?” Phichit shrugs, “It could happen. But you realize you’d become a major cliché.”

“But it’d be a cute cliché,” Yuuko offers kindly. “Almost as cute as you getting together with Codename Poodles, if we ever find them.” 

Leo frowns, “I guess that probably explains why he won’t come out of the library. Everyone is waiting for him to sit at the diva table.”

“He’s the only diva this lunch period,” Yuuko says, growing somber and perhaps almost sad as she considers Leo’s words. “He probably knows everyone’s talking about him. Imagine sitting at a table all by yourself.”

“See, I would’ve never thought of Viktor as a diva with how much he seems to dislike attention. Not to mention the handful of times I’ve seen people try to take verbal shots at him,” Yuuri frowns. “He seems less like school royalty and more like a punching bag in class.”

“Jealousy is an ugly thing,” Phichit sighs. “Viktor doesn’t have control over anything here, and so much of what made Viktor impressive is so muted now. The break was probably good for him, but bad for his image. A lot of rumors float around and there’s a minor subset of people who don’t believe he ever deserved that seat to begin with so you have your basic petty hotties taking cheap shots and your disillusioned pining idiots taking out their frustrations from time to time. They’re mostly the same assholes that used to try the same things in 9th and 10th grade, only now they get the minor satisfaction that it might be working. But think about it, Yuuri, if Viktor wasn’t a diva and didn’t have the protections of the divas, do you really think bullies would stop at just some dumb jokes?” 

“The bullied teen with supermodel good looks and designer collection of sweaters is the stuff of teen movies,” Beka rolls his eyes. “Viktor is fine. He’s strong and slowly recovering and regaining his self-confidence and that’s caused a hole in the power vacuum so it’s up to the other divas to step up and keep social order. But that’s what the pact is all about.”

“So, what you’re telling me is that all this time when I thought he was being ostracized, Viktor was actually hiding out and avoiding people?”

Phichit nods, “I wrote all about it in my blog, Yuuri. Keep up.”

“Unbelievable!” Yuuri shakes his head. “American high schools are insane.”

“I’ll admit we’re pretty boring here so we build a lot of cliques,” Yuuko shrugs.

Leo steals another piece of baklava from the middle of the table, “Honestly, I’m with you, Yuuri. My last school was nothing like this, just your basic athletes and cheerleaders running the popularity Olympics. None of this level of strategy. But I guess that’s what happens when the head cheerleader and dance team troupe leader date?”

.

Viktor is by the lockers at the end of the school day talking to Mila and Sara. All three spot Yuuri down the hallway, just as he’s making a beeline for his own locker. Although he’s locker neighbors with Viktor, they seldom see each other, except to prepare for Drama Club and walk to the theater together. Today, although it’s Friday, there’s no Drama Club because Mr. Cialdini had a doctor’s appointment. Yuri P. hadn’t been pleased, but also had told them they could continue to rehearse their lines at home.

“Hi Yuuri!” Sara smiles, big and bright as she steps back to take a good look at him. “I love your jeans! They really suit you.”

Yuuri doesn’t know what to do with the compliment. He’s wearing an old pair of faded jeans he’s owned for some years. They’re not exciting or fashionable. In fact, they fit a little snug now and he wouldn’t be surprised if they were actually unflattering.

“Hi Sara. Hi Mila,” Yuuri gives them a small nod, dropping his backpack on the ground to open his locker. “Hey Viktor. Didn’t see you at lunch today, either.” – He doesn’t mean it to sound like an accusation. Although Yuuri is disappointed, he understands a lot more about Viktor now, even if there’s still a lot he doesn’t know about Viktor’s past.

Mila seems interested in this development, leaning her shoulder against Viktor’s closed locker: “Oh? Viktor, have you been ghosting our little living legend, here? – You’ll have to forgive our boy. He’s a little shy.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Yuuri laughs nervously. He jumps when he realizes Sara is standing right behind him now. He has no idea how she managed to move so quickly without him noticing. “Uh, well, I should get going so I don’t miss the bus.”

“Do you want a ride?” Sara asks, “I was just going to give Mila and Vitya here a ride. I don’t mind. There’s plenty of room in my car, especially since Mickey has soccer practice. He’s still really bummed you didn’t want to stay with the team, you know. He said you’re good.”

“He’s just being nice. I had some newcomer’s luck is all.”

Mila studies him carefully, eyes narrowing as she leans forward, “You’re very modest, aren’t you? It’s odd, seeing as you’re so good at so many things.”

“Mila, why are you interrogating him?” Viktor asks softly, pulling her back.

Yuuri shrugs, “I—I guess? I don’t know. A—are you upset with me?”

“Do I have a reason to be upset with you?” Mila asks cryptically. Sara and Viktor seem just as confused as Yuuri. 

Sara pats Yuuri’s shoulders, pulling him gently out of Mila’s line of sight: “Okay, well, it was nice running into you, Yuuri.”

“This is my locker,” Yuuri reminds them lamely.

“Right,” Mila says, walking backwards without losing sight of Yuuri. Sara joins her, waving Viktor and Yuuri goodbye. “Have a nice weekend.”

“Oh my god, you are _so_ weird!” Sara yells at her once they’re around the corner and out of sight. “I said distract him, not terrify him! That poor boy must think you’re insane! If he stops talking to Vitya after this, I’m blaming you.”

Viktor hides his face in his palms, pressing his forehead against his locker: “I am so sorry. I’m just going to go die of mortification now. Please excuse me.”

Yuuri blinks, “wait, didn’t she offer me a ride home? Didn’t she say she was taking _you_ home?”

“I have a car and was finally given the okay this week to drive. I can give you a ride home, if you want?” Viktor offers, sounding very unsure. Yuuri accepts immediately, only to overcome the uncertainty marring Viktor’s face. He should never look so vulnerable, not if Yuuri can help. “Ah, great. My car is this way. I just have to stop by the theater first, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure,” Yuuri says, falling into step with Viktor as soon as he closes his locker. They walk side by side in comfortable silence. It’s a common practice by now and a very familiar route. As they walk, Yuuri realizes Viktor is wearing a Burberry trench coat and, unlike his usual signature look, Viktor’s hair is only halfway pulled up with some decorative braids. The rest cascades down his back. It’s striking. Naturally, that means Yuuri is about to commit social suicide again: “So, why didn’t you tell me you were a diva?”

“Probably slipped my mind because I’m not a diva anymore; you have to be respected to be a diva,” Viktor stops mid-step, turning to face Yuuri like he’s just been slapped: “Who said that to you about me?”

“Oh, uh, it was something Leo and Phichit were explaining to me, since I’m new here.”

Viktor nods, biting his bottom lip: “Well, glad someone got you up to speed on my shameful past. What else did they tell you about me? Or about the divas?”

“I wasn’t trying to pry,” Yuuri whispers. “But, you know, if you’d told me about the table, I would’ve understood and stayed in the library with you.”

“I thought it was implied, I guess,” Viktor shrugs, pushing his hair over his shoulder. “It’s hard to know what people know or think they know about me and what they say.”

Yuuri hums, giving Viktor a small smile and a gentle shove, “I get that. Haven’t you heard? My Dad’s a CIA operative and if he ever told my family, he’d have to kill us? The agency still doesn’t know how word got out in middle America.”

Viktor snorts, trying to hide his laugh: “Oh, you mean you’re _not_ a Japanese pop star in a witness protection program?”

“Who told?” Yuuri feigns shock as they reach the theater. “Now the Singaporean mafia is going to come after me!”

“Well, you could always hide out as a professional soccer player in Europe,” Viktor smiles, and Yuuri realizes he’s crushing hard. “I hear you’ve got some moves.”

“Uh, my moves are alright, I suppose,” Yuuri flirts back, feeling like he’s standing at the edge of a precipice and eager to fall.

“Is that right?” Viktor hums, and Yuuri relishes how comfortable Viktor seems to be with him now. “Well, you’ll have to show me your moves some time. Wait here for me? I just need to grab my notebook. I left it backstage, and I could get it Monday, but there’s some sketches I want to finish this weekend.”

Yuuri makes a noise of assent, watching Viktor walk away. A piece of paper falls from his bag unnoticed, and Yuuri trots a few steps over to pick it up with every intention of handing it to Viktor when he returns. When he looks down at the paper, though, he finds the sketch of a large, standard poodle—and in a moment of panic, he folds and pockets it.

**TBC**


End file.
